Friction
by keru.m
Summary: This one takes off at the bar, in the episode where Jordan indicates she thought H&M had slept together, finds out they haven't, then tells Mac she's essentially what's standing between her and Harm's 'forever'. Things however go differently in this take


Disclaimer: Don't own anything in this.

A/N: Just realized I hadn't posted this here. Just a short piece, nothing major. Enjoy, and have a fantastic summer, everyone!

--

**Friction**

Mac stepped into McMurphy's, her presence due more to duty than pleasure-seeking. Normally a night out with coworkers – well, some of them – was something she looked forward to. But after the stunt Harm pulled on her this afternoon, she was in a surly mood and not of a mind to be with company. Mostly, she didn't want to see Harm for a good long while. She was too angry with him to be pleasant, too upset to even consider making amends.

So, of course given her foul mood and her reason for it, the one person who looked towards the door when she entered was Harm. He immediately stood up and made his way to her, his expression a mix of apprehension and stubborn affront.

It almost made her turn around and leave, except that the second person who looked towards her upon her entrance was the admiral. He nodded in greeting, and Mac tried for a smile. Now she was stuck.

She unbuttoned her coat, and resigned herself to an evening of good friends and some unpleasantness, the source of which stopped in front of her. Challenge was etched into the hard lines around his eyes.

Mac sighed.

"Harm." She greeted evenly.

"Mac, listen, about today..." He hesitated, and she thought she might just get an apology out of him.

But his hesitation trickled, spurted and then gushed into a stilted silence. And with it her annoyance mounted. His apologies always came in the form of subtext.

She resolved not to give him an easy out. He still waited for it, though, and when he realized none would be forthcoming, irritation flared in his eyes.

"Mac—"

She recognized that tone.

"Harm. Can we not get into this here. It's Friday night and I'm not in the mood."

"We have to talk about this." His words were sharp.

"Not now," She crossed her arms, her hard stare leaving him no room for escape. Not that Harm was the kind to back down from a fight. "We don't have to."

"You're being unreasonable," He accused harshly.

"Right. Because not wanting to get into this on your timetable makes me unreasonable."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, a clear sign that he was struggling to cap his frustration. It made her feel very smug, though she immediately regretted that it did.

Yet, it always felt good to get a rise out of him. She had a hard time stopping herself sometimes when he was like this. This was one of those times.

"And _you_," She continued, words dripping with disdain, "Deciding that our partnership is really a one-man team is the epitome of reason."

He took a step closer to her, his expression darkening. "I thought we'd dealt with this. You still resent me."

"We didn't deal with anything," She threw back. "We almost died on a submarine. It was a temporary fix. Neither of us changed a thing. We didn't talk about anything."

"Right. Maybe there are deeper issues," He rolled his eyes, his sarcasm potent. "You're reading too much into this again." There was that subtext again, behind his callous words. Like telling her this wasn't a marriage. As though she was being overly emotional. She clenched her jaw, anger sparked over her skin.

"You're being dismissive." It took monumental effort to keep her calm. The bar shrank back into darkness, the scratchy music grayed at the edges. He made up her entire field of vision, range of sound. Him and the fiery hardness in his eyes, glittering in the dim lighting.

He took a step towards her, standing so close now his arms brushed against hers, so close he had to bend his head down to look at her.

"I—"

"Mac!"

The sound of her name jolted them both out of the haze of argument, and back to the harsh sounds and sharp lines of their surroundings.

Mac blinked, trying to reorient herself. An unwelcome heat shimmered in the air, the remnants of the cocoon she and Harm had been enfolded within. Embarrassment filled its place. Why it did, though, she didn't really care to figure out.

Mac turned to find Jordan walking up to them, wearing a bright smile of greeting.

With a final glare at Harm, Mac turned to Jordan, thankful for the interruption. Harm didn't seem to share her sentiment if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"Hi." Jordan directed her smile at Mac. She slipped her arm around Harm's waist "How're you, Mac?"

"Well, thanks." Mac forced herself down from her adrenaline high. Her blood was still pumping furiously. And she could feel the tension shooting from Harm's tightly wound frame, sharp as a slap. Jordan could probably feel it too, making Mac wonder if Jordan was purposefully trying to smooth things over between them. The innocent sweetness of the gesture almost made Mac smile.

She thought she might like Jordan, in that friend-of-a-friend sort of way.

"It's good to see you again, Jordan."

Jordan nodded in response, but Harm was still staring at Mac, now more affronted than apprehensive. With Harm's lack of cooperation, Mac could see the approaching lull in the conversation. She tried to dig through her repertoire of appropriate polite chit chat.

"How's work going? Harm had mentioned that you've had a sudden influx of patients."

For some reason, the appropriate, polite chit chat caused Jordan to glance at Harm. There was something in that fleeting look that confused Mac. It looked like doubt, it felt like an accusation.

Harm cleared his throat, and Mac watched as he turned on the charm switch. "How about a drink, Jordan? Mac?"

"I'll have another," Jordan handed her glass over to Harm.

"Please," Mac said, glad to get him out of the way. She would track down Bud and Harriet. Speaking with them invariably lifted her spirits.

Harm nodded at Mac, took Jordan's glass, and made his way to the bar. It seemed to Mac that the room suddenly seemed a bit less stuffy.

"How about a game of darts?" Jordan asked brightly.

For the second time in only a few minutes, Mac felt trapped.

"Sure," She smiled back at Jordan. "Sounds like fun," She lied.

--

Mac stood with her foot behind the line taped on the floor, attention focused on the dartboard. She'd been able to sustain a steady exchange with Jordan through the first few rounds in their game, with Harriet and Caroline's help. Unfortunately, her unwitting allies had left to refresh their drinks a few minutes ago and had yet to return. All said, though, Mac decided she genuinely did like Jordan, in that friend-of-a-friend sort of way. Maybe that could change to fewer degrees of separation with time.

"So, are you seeing anyone new?" Jordan asked, out of the blue.

Mac was startled by the inappropriateness of the question, and very glad she hadn't been about to launch a dart. Normally, she would tell whoever was asking to mind their own business, but she couldn't very well be rude to Harm's girlfriend. She decided she couldn't ever be more than the friend-of-a-friend with Jordan; she didn't need this kind of invasive pressure in her relationships with other human beings.

Trying not to look as self-conscious as she felt, Mac cleared her throat. She was not the kind to share personal information with anyone.

"No, I'm not. Not at the moment." That came out sounding incredibly awkward, Mac thought. She tried to make an attempt at infusing some friendliness.

"I envy you," She added, glancing at Jordan briefly before turning her attention back to the dart board. She pulled her wrist back, aimed, released. "A hot new romance..."

The dart hit the red dot in the centre of the board. Bull's eye.

Mac admired her perfect shot with satisfaction. She was smoking this game. She walked over to the board and pulled out the darts one by one.

"Yeah." Jordan sighed wistfully. She glanced at Harm, who was seated at the bar, deep in conversation with Bud and Harriet. "Sometimes I think we'll go on forever."

Mac handed the darts over to Jordan, who thanked her with a smile. She lined herself up with the tape on the floor, and positioned herself to shoot. This time, her sideways glanced focused solely on Mac.

"And sometimes I think we'll last until you decide you want him."

Mac started at the words, eyes wide with shock. This had just gone from awkward, through inappropriate, to downright uncomfortable.

"Jordan," Mac began, thinking this very peculiar. Shouldn't shrinks, on account of their training, be more emotionally balance than most? Less prone to insecurity? "I'm no threat to you."

Jordan focused on the dartboard, "Aren't you?" She took a shot. The dart sailed through the air on a wobbly trajectory, before piercing the cork at 15 points.

Jordan didn't look at Mac this time, just positioned herself for her next shot.

And Mac wished she was anywhere but here in a bar, standing across the room from a man she was hell bent on not talking to because he was an insensitive jerk, playing darts with said jerk's insecure girlfriend. When she'd first met Harm, she'd thought he was the kind of guy who would date women like Jordan; a little insecure, a little needy. When they'd become good friends, she'd thought that her initial assessment was wrong, that she should give him the benefit of the doubt. And yet, here she was.

"Jordan..." Mac didn't know where to take this conversation, this sentence. So she just stopped. The second time this evening hesitation rushed headlong into stilted silence in her presence.

"Mac." The way Jordan said her name struck Mac as odd, as though the other woman was shifting into professional mode. "You're falling for him."

Mac's jaw dropped.

"What?" She managed to choke out. _Falling_ for him? What the hell kind of absurdity was this. Now she didn't know if Jordan was insecure or just plain insane. Or both.

"Harm." Jordan clarified needlessly.

Mac decided that perhaps the best course of action to extricate herself from this quagmire without further damaging her relationship with Harm – because telling his girlfriend she had lost her mind was sure to cause considerable damage – was to pretend this was all one big joke.

"Yeah," She tried for an incredulous laugh, but it just came out sounding strangled and nervous.

"You are," Jordan was apparently completely serious, if the tone of her voice and the expression on her face were anything to go by. "You're falling for him."

Mac really wished Jordan would stop stringing those words together. This on the heels of Jordan talking to her in front of both Caroline and Harriet as though it was a given fact that she'd slept with Harm while away on assignment. She was going to be sick.

"Well, that's crazy." It was all she could think to say. It wasn't as bad as outright telling Jordan she was insane, that she was ruining the one healthy relationship Mac had been able to sustain with another person. Healthy and also somewhat rocky and imperfect and even maybe just slightly dysfunctional.

"You think so?" Jordan continued, no longer even pretending to be interested in the game of darts they were supposed to by playing.

"You're nuts." So much for not telling Jordan she was off her rocker.

"Am I?"

And all this psycho-babble answering-every-statement-with-a-question was increasingly annoying.

"Well," Mac struggled to find the quickest route to a dismissal of these unsubstantiated, unwarranted charges. "You see how we act together."

"Yes, I do."

At least that wasn't a question. And yet, there was a question hidden behind the statement. And why was she defending herself? Her relationship with Harm? But she couldn't stop herself. It was somehow important that Jordan believe this. Mac had no designs on Harm. None. Especially not hidden ones.

"We never get along." Mac struggled for a deeper explanation at the complete lack of understanding on Jordan's face. "I mean, we're always fighting. You pretty much broke up the beginnings of a pretty bad one..."

"Foreplay."

It was one word. A single word that shook the walls, rattled the floorboards, shattered the windows around her. Mac could see the wreck that would be left by this senseless, unnecessary, completely avoidable collision. She needed to get out of here.

"You're just afraid, Mac," Jordan continued. Carefully aimed, smoothly thrown words, yet so completely off target "I'd guess this is all new to you, and you're terrified. So you're denying and dissembling. But one day you'll get over it, and that's the day Harm and I will be over."

It was not true, Mac could say with certainty. She was not afraid. She was downright, goddamned furious. This was not what she'd signed up for.

She felt him then, and turned to see Harm walking towards them. It was an odd mirroring of how he'd walked up to her when she'd entered the bar. This time his expression was a mix of apprehension and worried curiosity. He must have sensed her distress. Jordan's distress, Mac corrected. Jordan's.

He was close enough that the sounds of buzzed revelry and an old hi-fi would not impede conversation. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mac's skin was itching and fury lay simmering under a thin carapace of malaise. So she turned away from the couple, made no excuses, grabbed her coat from the hook she'd draped it over what felt like eons ago, and walked into the cold dark of night.

It was a welcome escape. And she breathed in the cool, crisp air. Freedom by the lungful after an evening of being held hostage to something she hadn't let herself contemplate with any depth. A freedom that did nothing to tame the angry thumping of her heart. She tightened her shaking hands into fists.

Harm sure did know how to pick them.

--

Harm pushed open the door to McMurphy's, searching for Mac.

He found her immediately, standing beneath a lamp post, staring up at the sky.

"Mac!" He grabbed her arm, turning her around. She was startled, but that morphed into a hard anger when she registered that it was him.

"Would you drop it, Harm?" Her words were low with an implied threat.

"What the hell did you say to her?" His words hot white with accusation. He couldn't believe she would stoop so low. "If you're mad at me, damnit take it out on me."

Anger turned to shock, she stared at him, stunned and silent. It put a niggle of doubt in his mind, but then he remembered what had happened earlier in the day, the tension between them. And his blind anger lanced through his better judgment.

"There's no need to pull Jordie into it!"

The air around her crackled and hissed, her eyes flashed, but he held his ground.

"For your information," She jabbed her finger into his chest. Her voice shook, something that rarely happened, and it made him realize just how upset she was. "I didn't say anything to her. She's the one who gave me the third degree."

"What?" He faltered at hearing this. Third degree about what?

Mac stepped away from him, suddenly deflated.

"Look, I shouldn't have said anything, just forget it." She shook her head, rubbed her temples. "I'm going home, and come Monday I'm going to pretend none of this happened."

She turned around, and started walking away.

"Mac, wait. What did Jordan say?"

"Just forget about it, Harm." She sat in her car, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Mac, wait—"

But she drove off without another glance at him.

Harm watched her taillights disappear down the road. He looked back at McMurphy's. What was that about?

--

Harm pounded on Mac's door. She hadn't answered her phone, so he knew she was avoiding him. It was late, but finding out the full extent of you girlfriend – former girlfriend's – insecurity about your partner and then breaking it off took a while. Not that he'd planned on that second part. He'd been appalled that Jordan had upset Mac to such an extent, and of course Jordan had opinions about that. So they'd had a pretty epic fight on that front, which is where that second part came from.

She'd told him he was waiting for Mac. He'd told her she was way off the mark: he was friends with Mac, that was all.

"I saw you arguing with her when she came into McMurphy's." She'd spoken like he was a patient, something he hated about how she was during arguments. "Fights imply intimacy."

"Strangers fight all the time." He'd fought down his contempt at her inanity. "It's called war."

"You care enough that you get angry—"

"Of course I care! We're friends!"

"—to the point of losing control," She'd continued, ignoring his protest. "You show more emotion in your fights with her than during any of our more intimate moments."

"Stop talking like a shrink."

"Just say, once and for all, that—"

"I'm not involved with Mac." He'd stated firmly.

She'd had none of it.

"Just say that you don't obsess over your disagreements with her."

He'd opened his mouth to say just that, but nothing came out. It was her cue to continue.

"I thought, when you asked me out that first time, that you were looking for something to fill the space you emptied by finding your father." She'd still been talking to him with an impersonal detachment as she'd picked up her purse and her coat. The only things of hers in his apartment, and she'd brought them with her tonight. That should have been sign enough, after four months of dating, and just a bit less time of sleeping together. "But you were only trying to plug the leaks on your feelings for Mac. You found your father, and discovered what you felt for her. And it was too much for you. So you hid behind me."

She'd opened the door and he'd made no move to stop her.

"I won't be anyone's hiding place, not from themselves." And she'd shut the door behind her with a barely audible click.

He hadn't moved from his spot, staring at the door for a very long time.

She'd appeared in his life on the first Christmas where he had no burning truth to seek out, and she'd seen right through his loneliness. Now, four months later, she'd left him with the silent, accusing echoes of another kind of truth altogether.

That, he thought as he stood now waiting for Mac to open the door, was what rankled him the most. It was one thing that she understood how unmoored he'd felt after he found his father, after he solved the mystery that had been eating away at him most of his life. But when the hell, how the hell did she get to know so much about him? And without his permission, without his consent? He was embarrassed by the entire thing. By how entirely inappropriate Jordan's behavior towards Mac had been. By how she'd revealed more about him to Mac – and to himself – than he thought he had to reveal. By how he needed to see Mac, just to confirm that Jordan was wrong.

It was definitely the last time he dated a psychiatrist. Because she'd seen right through him in all the wrong ways, and because he'd wanted to crawl into bed and sleep this off, but instead he found himself at Mac's apartment armed with a peace offering and an apology for Jordan's behaviour. And on another search for the burning truth.

Mac opened the door just as he lifted his knuckles to knock yet again. Their eyes locked. He was the first to break their gaze, taking in her flannel pajamas and the way she glowed, framed by firelight.

He had been hiding. The realization made the empty space in him yawn wider.

"Mac." His voice carried the weight of longing. He cleared his throat. "I brought a peace offering." He tilted his head to indicate the bags in his hand.

She eyed his olive branch, and grimaced. "I'm not in a salad kind of mood."

He looked at the bag, and the sense of déjà vu took him right back to his beginning with her. He grinned despite himself.

"That's for me." He lifted his hand to show her the other bag he was holding. "A Beltway Burger for you."

She held the door open for him as he entered, wearing a slight smile of recognition. It made his own grin reach deep into his heart.

"Want anything to drink?" She asked, shutting the door behind him.

He admired how cozy her apartment was, lit by flickering flames in the hearth. A woman with a voice like honey was crooning over the stereo about life and love and the big questions that had brought him here.

"I brought you a chocolate shake." He set the bags on the table, flinging his coat over the armchair.

"And for yourself?" She sat down next to him, digging through her bag of food.

"Protein shake," He pulled his drink from the bag with a flourish, and was rewarded with a laugh.

They ate in a comfortable silence. He enjoyed the freedom of sitting in a room with her by firelight, and not needing to say anything at all.

About halfway through her burger, she gave a happy sigh.

"I was prepared to be angry with you the entire weekend, but this is one amazing burger."

"So I'm off the hook?" He asked around a mouthful of arugula, surprised that it could be this easy.

She shrugged, suddenly serious. "I'm sick of fighting. It's just easier this way."

He remembered what Jordan had said, about fighting being an emotional investment. It made him wonder.

"Because I'm not worth fighting with?" He jabbed his fork in his salad, his appetite lost.

She stopped and stared at him, confused. "Not worth fighting with?" She repeated.

He shrugged, "Never mind. It's nothing."

"Look, Harm," She put her food on the table, wiped her hands on a napkin. "I don't know what Jordan told you, but it was just a fight, like we always fight." She looked very uncomfortable. "That's it, that's all."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"On the Watertown, you said that maybe there were deeper issues..." He tried to hide his awkwardness at bringing this up.

She stared at him. Her expression, oddly, reminded him of a collapsing house of cards.

"Maybe we should, ah, talk about it," He persevered.

She shot off the couch, paced as though her skin was itching.

"You're reading too much into this. We're friends, we had a disagreement—"

"About what?" He interjected.

She stopped mid-step and turned to look at him.

"What?" She frowned, shaking her head at the question.

"What are we fighting about?" He insisted, standing up in front of her.

She looked at him blankly. "About..."

He couldn't remember either.

"Exactly, Mac. We don't even need a reason."

"Are you going to go Freudian on me now?" She huffed in exasperation.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Mac," The reason for her distress – well, part of it – finally registered. "Jordan laying into you like that was uncalled for."

"I said never mind." She said it more forcefully this time.

"I told her to layoff and we got into a fight about it—"

"Then you should be apologizing to her." She waved her hand over the leftovers of their half-eaten meal. "Not me."

"There's no need for that. She walked out."

Mac stopped, worry creased her brow. She stepped up to him, searching his face, and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Harm. I didn't ... I mean..." She trailed off helplessly.

He looked at her hand, at her slender fingers resting on his skin. "I didn't stop her," He said, to prevent her from taking any responsibility for this. And because it was the truth.

Her hand fell to her side. He tried to catch her gaze, but she looked away.

"Mac," Her name again carried the weight of longing, but this time he was not hiding.

She stepped away from him. "So you're okay, then." She stopped, but nervousness made her ramblings continue. "Well, not okay. I mean, ending a relationship is always hard..."

"Mac," He tried to flag her attention, to mould his thoughts into coherence. "Jordan said something," He stopped at the panic in her eyes. Worry bubbled in his gut. "What is it?"

"I think Jordan may have misread my..." She hesitated and amended, "Our friendship."

"I don't think she did." He stood his ground, feet apart, arms crossed. He realized as he spoke that he was being confrontational.

"Harm." She went on the defensive.

It was another revelation. He could see the beginnings of a fight, and wanted to stop this before it spiraled out of both of their control.

"You don't remember what we are supposed to be fighting about, do you?" Again, it sounded like he was provoking her. So he added in a softer tone, "And neither do I."

"So?" It was a gunshot of protest in the lulling mood of firelight and old love songs in her apartment.

"Why are you avoiding this?!" He accused, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. And here he thought he was trying to avoid a fight. But he couldn't help himself, really he couldn't.

"I'm not avoiding anything!" The air around her crackled and hissed, her eyes flashed. He let himself admire her, where he usually fought back. It was a very liberating feeling. Not to mention a feast for the eyes. Desire thrummed, a tender ache in his chest.

"You're getting upset again." He couldn't help his grin of amusement at the fire in her.

"Stop telling me what I'm doing." She scowled.

"Mac," He began with as much patience as he could muster. He also wisely hid his smile. "You're the one who wanted to talk about it, and now you're avoiding it. Why the change?"

She stayed maddeningly silent.

"I'll tell you what I think." He offered.

"Harm, it's late—"

He was quick to cut her off.

"I think you're realizing that you care for me as more than just a friend." He was very impressed by how confident he sounded. He was shaking inside. "You weren't expecting it, and it scares you that you want this, that it might mean something this time." He took his leap of faith, because he felt exactly the same way. "For both of us."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. He recognized it as a protective gesture. Her head was bowed so he couldn't see her face. In her flannel pajamas, standing curled in on herself, she looked so vulnerable.

"Mac." He stepped up to her, raised his hand to her face.

"We can't." She took a step away, his words and his hand left hanging.

"Why?"

"We just can't." She met his gaze, and the anxiety that stared back at him was a physical blow.

"You're scared to trust me." She didn't move. So he added, "To trust yourself."

She looked away.

"You're scared of what it means to let yourself trust me." He stepped closer to her. She still didn't look at him, but she didn't move away this time.

"That's okay, Mac." He rested his hands on her shoulders, refusing to let her escape. "We can work on that. You don't have to worry. We can take this as slow as you want."

Her eyes flicked to his, uncertain.

"I'm not exactly known for jumping into relationships with both feet, either," He grinned, trailing his hands from her shoulders to her wrists.

"We're friends," He continued. "That's a good start. It means part of you already trusts me. And part of me already cares too deeply for you to be anything less than serious about this."

She stood still. He could see her thoughts churning.

"Are you going to say anything?" He tugged her closer. His fingers caressed the softness of her cheek.

"We fight all the time..."

"That won't change."

She looked at him in surprise.

"It's the one promise we have to make to each other." He tried to be serious, but a smile kept threatening to escape.

"What?" She searched for understanding, unsure if he was pulling her leg. "Why?"

"I like our fights." The simple truth. Fights with her made his fingers tingle, his heart pound in his ears.

"You like our fights," She repeated slowly, not able to make sense of it.

"Sometimes they're the only thing that cut through the boredom of a normal day at the office. And nothing else quite gets the blood rushing – on land – like fighting with you." He shrugged. "And when you call me names..."

She was still trying to decide if he was serious. Of course, he was.

"You are insane!" She finally exclaimed.

"Exactly like that," He grinned. She laughed, a soft sound that filled the room with a sweetness beyond lyrics crooned in a honeyed voice. He kissed her. It was like the only other kiss they'd shared, except time and the strength of their friendship, their trust strong as steel and light as gossamer, had added texture, a depth to this soft unveiling of hearts.

"So, do you promise?" He asked, holding her close, the emotion of their kiss misting the air around them.

She gave it a moment's thought.

"If I said no," She looked up at him. "Would you pick a fight?"

He laughed. "Damn right I would."

"In that case," Challenge glinted in her dark eyes. His blood rushed, a dull roar in his veins at seeing her like this. "No."

--

the end


End file.
